Surviving the Rainstorm
by rainingaces
Summary: or, The Common Problem Of Umbrella Breakage And What To Do When It Happens To You. Reaction fic to Prom Queen.


**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> 2×20  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Do not own this scene, but Darren and Chris undeniably do.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Reaction fic to Darren's expressions in one scene  
><strong>AN:** The hallway scene reminded me of a general and his lieutenant trying to figure out how to recover from a bad strike. I loved how Kurt kept saying "we" in this scene. It made it so clear how united a force they were—Kurt did what he did for both himself and Blaine, just as what the student body did to Kurt affected both of them. I think both of them took it as an attack, and this little snippet just kind of popped into my head as I (re)watched the scene in the hallway multiple times. Because these boys work best when they work together. Not my best and kind of rushed, but oh well.

* * *

><p>He was tired. So, so tired. Of parking lots and broken ribs. Of kilts and prom queens.<p>

Of this.

Blaine was so tired of _this_.

Kurt was pacing frantically in the hallway, pain urgent and familiar and all the more ferocious for the shattered belief that this feeling would never be back. Blaine had sunk to the floor a while ago, leaning against the lockers and watching Kurt pass back and forth in front of him. He couldn't go back in there, he kept saying, but he made no further move toward the doors. Blaine only watched him.

He didn't know what to do. God, and Kurt kept _sobbing_, a flooding cascade of heartbreak, disappointment, hurt, until it trickled down to nothing, some kind of emptiness Blaine hated to see in him, and Blaine wanted to _do something_, but he didn't know _what to do._ This wasn't a surprise. He had hoped it wouldn't happen and that Kurt's optimism would be proven correct, but it wasn't like he hadn't expected something like this. Well, he hadn't expected something like _this_—he had expected slurs, glares, a few bruised bones. Not…

The prom had been fun so far, even if he had still been a little too cautious to dance in the middle of the floor with Kurt (some fears just didn't go away, no matter how long ago it had been; and Kurt's stories of locker shoves and dumpster dives ping-ponged around his brain every time he considered it). He had almost managed to get rid of that overwhelming need to crawl inside himself and never come out (performing had gone such a long way with that. Thank goodness New Directions were wonderful enough to let him sing with them, Kurt wonderful enough to know him so well and suggest he do so). And Kurt looked gorgeous, was amazingly patient with him the entire night. It had been fun so far.

But then this.

Part of him was thinking _at least his outfit isn't ruined. He worked so hard on it_. It's the part that said, _sticks and stones. It's a stupid prank, it's words. At least you can fight back when it's words. _It's the part that insisted _it could have been so much worse. _

But there was another corner that muttered that he shouldn't even have to think _it could have been so much worse_. That this was bad enough. That life shouldn't have to be this endless battle of them versus the world. He shouldn't have to sit against the lockers of another school and watch his boyfriend recover from a surprise attack launched by an increasingly clever enemy. From a _stupid _prank. From a betrayal of trust.

Blaine was so _tired of this._

"Would you at least—sit down?"

Kurt didn't. He just kept pacing. Blaine didn't know what Kurt wanted to do. "Do you want to go?" he asked, a tiny coating of resignation sliding down his throat. Maybe they could salvage this night somewhere else. "We don't have to go back in there."

Kurt turned to him, shaking his head slightly. "Wasn't this prom supposed to be about redemption? About taking away that lump you had in your throat from running away?"

Blaine closed his eyes. _No, _he wanted to say. _Not anymore._ Now it's about how, no matter where they run to, _this _was going to follow them—everywhere—and no matter how long they hid away at Dalton waiting for the storm to pass, it would still be pouring by the time they decided to get out from underneath the roof. It was about how they would still get wet, even if they had somehow forgotten what the rain felt like.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine asked, because Kurt wasn't leaving them with a lot of options. He didn't want to go back inside, but he didn't want to leave. Blaine would stay outside in the hallway forever with Kurt if that was what he wanted, he just had to _tell him_.

Kurt looked at him, and Blaine saw embers of his old defiance sparking in his eyes. Something inside of him rose up. An expectation, or excitement—something.

"I'm going to go back in there," Kurt started, and Blaine felt fingers of energy tickling down his arms. "And get coronated."

…_God_, did Blaine adore his boyfriend.

Some kind of terrified giddiness swept away a little of the resignation seeped in his bones, reminded him what being together really _meant_ in that unceasing rainstorm.

They were tired of this. And—since they had to—they were ready to strike back.


End file.
